


A Reflection of me

by leveragus



Category: Leverage
Genre: Community: leveragexchange, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 04:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leveragus/pseuds/leveragus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Sophie Devereaux become who she is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reflection of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ariestess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariestess/gifts).



Everyone thinks that I’m from a rich family. The way I talk, the way I move, the way I stand… who could blame them? It’s in my nature to deceive appearances.

But I grew up in England during Margaret Thatcher’s administration, a period of ups and downs, where people were either too conservative or too rebellious.

My father was a worker, out of the house most of the time, and when he got back home he was so stressed and exhausted that it was like he wasn’t there. My mother was a housewife, she was always making sure that my older brother would stay out of trouble (he was the rebel) and taking care of my little sister.

That left me, the middle child, all alone to do whatever I wanted. Of course my mother thought I was the responsible one. The one she could trust. I wonder what she would think now if she only knew that I was a thief and a grifter.

 It all started when I was sixteen. I had my boring life.

School. Home. Home. Part time job. Homework. School again.

Round and round it went. Day after day.

My grandmother always told me that I deserved more in my life. She would tell me all of her adventures in America. How she met my grandfather during the war. The places they visited. She is the one that gave me the passion for art.

“But if you want something, you have to be the one to get it.” She would always tell me.

My part time job was as a waitress in an uptown restaurant. They gave great tips and it was a chance to see different people. Rich people. Wish for a different life.

“Excuse me.” A blonde young girl about her age stopped me. “Could you show us the way to party?” She gave me a friendly smile, but I knew I wasn’t the type of girl she would look twice at. We probably never crossed paths, didn’t go to the same place, and never would be friends.

“Sure.” I smiled politely. “Follow me.”

And I directed her to the sweet sixteen party that we had that afternoon. I spent all the time watching them, observing them, trying to copy their manners, become them. For a few moments between serving people I could dream. Dreams that were then shattered once I got back home where my father and brother  were arguing again, my little sister was crying from all the noise and my mother was hiding in the master bedroom.

I spent the following weeks trying to learn everything I could about that life. I wanted to be like that girl at the restaurant. I wanted more. I deserved more. I went to different places trying different personas. I was a schoolgirl from the North, a lost French tourist, a Countess from Wales. I could be anyone.

That’s when I came up with my plan, a final test to see if I could really do it. I borrowed one of my grandma’s old dresses. I had a friend of my mine make some adjustments. I created an accent, a new persona, a new background. There was going to be another party at a mansion. Same people. Same young blonde girl.

I arrived one hour after the party started so no one would notice me right away. I began taking to people, eat from the buffet, I fitted right in.

“Hi, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you.” It was her, the girl from the restaurant. For a moment I panicked, scared that she would recognize me.

“I’m new.” I lied straight away. “I just moved to my great aunt’s house. I don’t really know anyone. I lived in Germany for a while. My parents are still there.”

That caught her curiosity. “Really. I’m Elizabeth Weatherspoon.”

“Charlotte Prentiss. Nice to meet you.” She had no idea who I was.

That afternoon had been the best one of my life so far. Elizabeth had introduced me to her friends and no one suspected anything. For over month I led a double life. I was both the girl who lives in the suburbs and the rich Charlotte Prentiss. It wasn’t easy, I sometimes made mistakes, but it was working.

Graduation came, and with that the sad news of my grandma’s passing.

Nothing was keeping me there anymore.

I was standing in front of my grandmother’s grave when I came to a final decision. I packed a light bad and gathered all the money I had saved and went to France. I chose a new identity, something that could represent the new me. I used my beloved grandmother’s name and a surname that had a nice ring to it.

“My name is Sophie Devereaux.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
